


contrast

by banshee_in_the_dark



Series: aftershocks [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fingerfucking, Friends to Lovers, Holding Hands, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 03, Power Play Undertones, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Smut, informal power play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 06:12:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7156769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banshee_in_the_dark/pseuds/banshee_in_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>contrast: v. to compare or appraise in respect to differences</i>
</p><p> Hand-holding isn't the only new intimacy Clarke and Bellamy have developed.</p><p>--</p><p>
  <b>Winner of Best Smutty Oneshot in the 2016 Bellarke Fanfiction Awards</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	contrast

**Author's Note:**

> The size difference between Bellamy and Clarke's hands is obsene, as evidenced in the glorious hand-holding shot in the finale. I am a weak woman and find it increibly hot. So, this is a product of that. It's the first in a series of post-finale connected smutty oneshots, and I hope you enjoy it. Smut and feelings ahead!
> 
> Shout-out to [ Sarah ](http://www.writingaloveaffair.tumblr.com) for being the best beta ever, and to [Marissa!](http://www.missemarissa.tumblr.com) for encouraging my dirty thoughts. Love you girls.

As the fog of sleep lifts from Bellamy’s brain it becomes easy to identify what was a dream and what isn’t.

The smooth locks of thin blonde hair his hand was tangled in - dream. He was pulling on his blankets. The soft lips trailing a path of kisses down his neck - dream. Just the cool air tickling his exposed skin. The small, dainty hand wrapped around his cock, marveling because her fingers couldn’t quite circle around the considerable girth - also a dream. That’s his own, larger, rougher hand pulling on his cock.

But the soft padding feet crossing his quarters, the cool air biting his searing body as the blankets are lifted off the side of his bed, and the feminine weight settling beside him and snuggling close to him - that’s reality.

Bellamy smiles in the darkness, releases his engorged cock with only mild annoyance and turns on his side to face her, making sure to keep his hips angled in such a way that his aroused state isn’t evident. A case of blue balls is a small price to pay for the privilege of sharing a bed with Clarke Griffin.

“Are you ever going to sleep in your own bed?” he teases her. His voice is low and sleep laden, but even if he were wide awake, he would whisper. These moments with her feel like a secret, despite the fact that half of Arkadia knows Clarke goes to bed at the quarters she shares with her mother, and wakes up in his, every morning, no matter what. 

She chuckles. “Probably not,” she whispers back. He can faintly make up her features in the dark, but she sounds like she’s smiling. “I like your bed better.”

Bellamy bites back a groan and discreetly scoots his hips further away from her. Those words went straight to his cock and revived his slowly fading arousal. It’s going to be a painful, long while until he can get it under control and fall back asleep.

“Nightmare?” he asks, almost hoping she answers on the affirmative so he can distract himself from thoughts of what it’d be like to kiss her and feeling like a dick for it.

“No. I just sleep better with you.”

Clarke’s hand reaches across the empty space of bed between them and and laces her fingers with his, squeezing him tight and sighing as she relaxes. Bellamy’s trying very hard not to think about the very important fact that she’s holding the same hand he was pulling on his cock with just minutes ago.

Aside from her sneaking into his room every night to share his bed, the handholding is a new intimacy they’ve developed. On the rover, when his hand is resting passively over his thigh as he drives, her hand usually settles over it until he turns it palm up and their fingers interlace. When she comes to fetch him to show him something or to remind him they have a meeting, her hand automatically finds his and pulls him along. When he’s going out with the hunting party, she squeezes his hand, hugs him and whispers, without leaving any room for doubts, that they will meet again. At the mess hall they sit side by side and as he’s right handed and she’s not, they hold hands under the able while they eat. When she has a busy day at the infirmary he brings her lunch. Sometimes, at night, when she’s too tired and pleads she’s not hungry and just wants to sleep, he feeds her by his own hand before tucking her into her bed only to find her climbing into his a few hour later.

He would be pretty damn happy about his life right now, if it weren’t for the fact that the world is probably going to end in less than five months.

Bellamy slowly drifts away thinking of all the new ways he and Clarke are closer now, listening to her steady breathing.

He wakes up not too long after that, but this time telling dream from reality is considerably more difficult. He is on his back again, painfully hard but he’s not actually touching himself. Clarke is on her side, pressed close against him, more than she’s ever been. Her left hand is holding his right one over his chest and her left leg is thrown over his thighs. Bellamy can feel the heat emanating from her crotch as it’s pressed hard against his muscled thigh. He checks her eyes but they’re still closed, her lips parted letting sleepy little sighs and moans escape her as her hips rock rhythmically against him seeking friction. 

“Clarke,” he whispers softly, trying to wake her up. He looks at her and fuck, he has a stellar view down her sleep shirt. Her generous breasts are squished against his side and he can feel the beaded points of her nipples against his bare skin through the threadbare material of her shirt.

He combs her hair away from her face and cups her cheek. “Clarke,” he tries again, a little louder this time.

She inhales deeply and slowly blinks her eyes open. When her gaze focuses on his face, she smiles and nuzzles his chest, moaning happily as her bare leg hitches up over his hairy thigh until his cock, trapped in his boxers, touches the inside of her thigh.

Bellamy’s convinced she’s still half-dreaming - and dreaming about him apparently. He wants her so much and it’d be so easy to tilt her head up and kiss her, gently turn her on her back and press her close against him, kissing her until she wakes up fully. But he would be taking advantage of her, and that’s not how he wants this to go.

He does cup her cheek and tilt her head up until their eyes, but he makes no move to claim her mouth. Instead, he says firmly “Clarke,” and watches as the dreamy daze clears from her eyes and she becomes aware of herself.

“Bellamy, I - I’m sorry,” she whispers, glancing away to hide her embarrassment.

“Hey, none of that,” he scolds her softly, lifting her chin with his knuckles. “It’s okay.” 

Clarke squirms against him and tries to move away, but Bellamy’s left arm curled around her waist is keeping her in place. If she really wants distance and to pretend none of this happened, he’ll give her that of course. But first they’re gonna talk about it, and they’re gonna stay just like this while they do that.

She shakes her head. “I practically assaulted you in your sleep.” 

“I’m not complaining,” he replies. His tongue comes out to wet his lips and Bellamy notices how her eyes follow the movement. “What were you dreaming about?”

She bites her lower lip. “You. Your hands. I can’t stop thinking about them.”

That’s a surprise. “How so?”

Clarke drops her face to his chest. This time he lets her hide herself, if that’s what she needs to do in order to talk freely. “You know how you held my hand when I took the flame and how you fed me the chip? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since then. It’s like… like an obsession. I dream about it every night.”

“About… taking the flame?” he asks, confused. 

She shoots him a look. “About your hands… touching me.”

Bellamy goes hot all over. “I never noticed before,” he says. They’ve been sharing a bed for a month and a half and this is the first time he wakes up to Clarke practically riding his thigh.

“That’s because I only come here in the middle of the night. I go to sleep in my own bed and I have that dream… when I wake up I’m just so…” Clarke explains in a whispered tone, voice laced with frustration. “After I get myself off I just want to be around you so much, so I come here.”

Bellamy closes his eyes and groans. Clarke stroking her soft little pussy until she comes all over her hand is a frequent image he conjures when he’s touching himself, but actually knowing she gets herself off every night before coming to sleep with him is legitimately the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Fuck the end of the world. His life is amazing right now.

“I know it’s weird… I’m sorry,” she apologizes.

Bellamy opens his eyes and finds she was already looking at him, her features drawn as if she was worried about his reaction to this.

Tenderness wells up inside him. He strokes her cheek. “It’s not weird. Unless…” A thought occurs to him and dread starts to well inside him. “Unless you feel repulsed by thinking of me that way? Disgusted or something?”

She scowls at him. “I feel a lot of thing when I think about you, Bellamy. Repulsion and disgust don’t come even close.”

He heaves a relieved breath. That’s nice to hear. “Well, in the interest of honesty, I was dreaming about you and touching myself before you came in tonight,” he confesses, leveling the field. He can’t have her thinking she’s the only one feeling his way, that would be absurd. “I also think about you a lot in the shower.”

She smiles tentatively. “Yeah?”

He nods. Just in case she has any doubts left, he gently picks up her hand from its place over his chest and presses it against the bulge trapped in his boxers.

Clarke’s breath hitches and she lightly grips his hard cock, carefully exploring his girth over his boxers. 

They’re treading on a dangerous, unfamiliar territory. Everything could go badly. He should be smart and put a stop to this. But the world is going to end and Clarke is the only thing that makes sense in his life. If they’re living on borrowed time, they’re gonna  _ live  _ damn it. 

“Tell me more about this dream,” he rasps, sneaking a hand under her sleep shirt and delicately dragging his nails over the curve of her waist.

Clarke bites her lip and glances away, hiding her eyes from his. “It’s not always the same… today for instance, remember how you removed that sliver from my index?”

Bellamy remembers  _ vividly _ . She didn’t want to go to her mother or Jackson for such a trivial thing but using the tweezers with her right hand to pluck the splinter herself when she’s left-handed, Clarke was naturally having trouble. He offered to help, but she claimed to have it under control. He lasted ten minutes listening to her grumbling and watching her fumbling attempts until he finally just took her hand in his. The metal sliver was small but it wasn’t too deep thankfully, although the area around it was red and inflamed from Clarke trying to pluck it out which made it more difficult to reach.

He's an active guy and does a fair lot of manual labor, so Bellamy gets splinters and slivers of metal frequently. He always plucks them out himself, even if he has to dig with his knife to do it.

Without thinking, Bellamy did what he always does first to remove splinters and took her index finger into his mouth, laving the pad of the digit with his tongue and feeling the rasp of the sliver against it. Then, he bit carefully around it, dragging his front teeth slowly over the swollen skin, forcing the sliver out and ultimately trapping it with his teeth and plucking it out. He released her digit immediately and spit the sliver away. 

When he rose his head Clarke was looking at him with an odd expression etched on her face and panting a little. Bellamy suddenly became very aware of what he'd done and started panicking internally. He sucked on her finger. What the fuck was he thinking? He completely disregarded her personal space. Clarke had every right to be upset so he apologized profusely before making a hasty retreat.

“So when I went to bed tonight, I dreamt you took my fingers into your mouth and you,” she sighs shakily, eyes darting down to trace his lips. “And you told me to touch myself.”

Bellamy groans, painfully aware of his state of arousal. He could come just hearing her say shit like that.

He briefly pulls away and reaches the bedside table to turn on the light. He wants to be able to see her, not just guess what she’s feeling by her tone and the shadows dancing on her face. Harsh white light is cast over them and Bellamy blinks awkwardly, trying to adjust his sight. When she comes in focus, Clarke’s face is flushed, her brow knitted in a delicate frown as she blinks rapidly. Her rosy nipples are perfectly outlined on the threadbare material of her sleep shirt, twin hard peaks crowning her lush breasts. She’s all he sees and all he wants. He touches the plentiful mounds with the back of his knuckles and she moans at the light contact, arching her back and pushing her chest out, offering herself. 

Bellamy palms her stomach under the shirt and Clarke sits up slightly, pulling it over her head with decided fluidity. He takes a moment to savor the sight. Her skin is very pale, but not like the downy pallor of life on the Ark. Her skin is a cool hue as if she’d bathed in moonlight rather than the sun. Translucent even in the artificial glow of the lamp. Her breasts hang heavy, plentiful, dark rosy nipples their crowning glory. He wants to devour her, consume her, adore her.

He sits up and reclines against his headboard. “I want you to show me,” he tells her as he pulls her between his legs, facing away from him. 

“Show you?” she wonders breathlessly, resting her back on his bare chest.

“How you touch yourself when you think about me.”

Clarke shivers. Bellamy takes her left hand in his and presses it over her panty covered mound, curling his fingers around hers. His hand is much larger than hers so he can cover her hand and her whole cunt in it. It’s a very erotic sight and Clarke can’t tear her eyes away from it, much to Bellamy’s pleasure. 

“Show me,” he encourages her.

He removes his hand from her cunt, trailing it up and dragging his fingertips slowly on the crease where her leg and hip meet. He cups her flaring hip, sneaking his index under the worn elastic of her underwear. His other hand mimics the movement and together they drag her panties down her legs, Clarke raising her hips to assist. 

Once she’s bared, Bellamy curls his hands on the inside of her thighs, his thumbs fitting in the hollows beside her plump cunt lips. He digs his digits on her supple flesh, and lifts one leg first, bringing it to the outside of his. He repeats the process with her remaining limb and then spreads his legs wide, forcing the same movement on Clarke’s and revealing her glistening pink cunt.

Without further encouragement, Clarke traces her outer lips a few times before dipping her fingertips into the well of her cunt and spreading the wetness around her inner folds.

“You like to tease yourself,” he observes, running his hands over her thighs in a long caress. “Get yourself off nice and easy.”

“Uh huh,” she nods and slowly circles around her clit, teasing it out of its hood.

Bellamy grabs her right hand and brings it up to his lips. He kisses her palm and then her fingertips, before sucking them into his mouth one by one, emulating her dream. “Your hands are really soft,” he tells her, voice thick with strained desire. “Your fingers are  delicate. I bet they they glide right over your silky cunt. Do you have to press hard to get some friction, baby?”

“Yeah,” Clarke moans, rubbing directly over her clit and arching her hips up.

Hard as a rock, Bellamy wraps his left arm around her middle right beneath her gorgeous tits, keeping her steady. His cock is cradled on the crack of her ass and if she doesn’t stop squirming he’s going to come all over the small of her back and make a mess. Clarke’s right hand curls around his wrist there and grips tightly as she chases her release.

Bellamy kisses her temple. “Why don’t you let up on your clit, baby? I bet your cunt’s hungry for your fingers too.”

“God, Bellamy,” Clarke whimpers and immediately does as she’s told. Her willingness to follow his instructions is very interesting.

She sinks two fingers inside her and fucks herself slowly as Bellamy hums his approval and nibbles on her ear. As he suspected, removing the stimulation from her clit helped Clarke delay her orgasm. He brings her remaining hand, with fingers still damp with his saliva, to cup her breast and together, they knead the soft flesh. The way she’s fucking herself with her fingers is too gentle to bring her over the edge and her fingers aren’t long enough to quite get the angle right and give her G-spot proper stimulation. 

Careful not to get in the way as she fucks herself, Bellamy lets her continue to stimulate her breast and places his hand over her lower belly and her mons, letting his middle finger barely graze her clit. The first contact has Clarke jerking against him and tightening her grip on her breast. She tilts her head back and stares at him with lust-clouded, heavy-lidded eyes. Bellamy slants his lips over hers, realizing just now that they haven’t kissed before and putting a great deal of effort in correcting that mistake. He devours her mouth, licking deep and sucking on her lips. 

“Gonna help you come baby, do you want that?” he whispers against her lips.

Clarke moans. “Yes, please.”

Bellamy licks the seam of her briefly parted lips before deepening the kiss one more time. He presses his index and middle finger right over her engorged clit rubbing up and down hard.

“Oh! Oh, God,” Clarke’s voice breaks and she tilts her hips up against his hand. “Fuck, Bellamy. Your fingers…”

“What about my fingers, baby?”

“They’re so -  _ ah! _ \- so rough…”

“That’s right, they are.” He tortures her pleasure button with a random rhythm. “Keep fucking your pussy nice and slow. I wanna see your little fingers work.”

“Fuck, Bellamy please,” Clarke shivers.

He captures her clit between his thumb and index, squeezing and releasing the pressure, rolling it between his fingers, pulling it upwards. Clarke goes tense as a board in his arms and inhales sharply before she comes with a keening moan, her fingers dug deep in her cunt as she comes around them.

Bellamy kisses her temple, her cheek, her panting lips. “That’s very good baby. You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

As she rides out her orgasm, Bellamy abandons her clit and cups her hand instead, sneaking a finger into her cunt to join hers. Her walls contract around them in protest. He fucks gently into her, mimicking her movements and spurring her on. She lags in the aftermath of her orgasm and lets him do all the work. Bellamy’s having none of that.

He removes his hand, taking her fingers with it and directs them up, letting them rest on her oversensitive clit. He kisses her forehead and Clarke finally opens her eyes, staring back at him with open affection and desire. “Now I’m gonna finger fuck your pussy, but I need you to touch your clit for me. Can you do that? I’m gonna fuck you hard so I want you to go easy on your clit like you were before.”

Her breath hitches and her gaze goes a little hazy as she stares at him, pupils blown. “Okay,” Clarke agrees with a sigh and starts rubbing the side of her clit eagerly.

She’s not just willing to follow instructions, she fucking likes it when he tells her what to do. The signs are all there. “Good.” Bellamy presses their lips together in a chaste kiss as he thrusts two fingers inside her.

Clarke moans and trembles in his arms. Two of her fingers equal roughly one of his own, so she can definitely feel the difference. His fingers are also considerably longer so he can reach the end of her channel. As he curls them upwards and drags them down the front of her cunt he touches a spot she couldn’t easily reach.

“Ah!” She tears her mouth away from his, dropping her head back against his shoulder in absolute bliss.

With a satisfied smirk, Bellamy focuses his efforts in the bumpy, ridged small area that is her G-spot, thrusting up and down and giving it a good pounding. As he continues to stimulate it, that area becomes more solid and easy to locate with every swipe of his fingers.

Unable to focus, Clarke forgoes her clit and wraps her hand around Bellamy’s wrist as her hips jerk wildly to meet his thrusting fingers. She pants harshly, turning her head to the side giving him ample room to suckle on the long column of her neck. 

Bellamy reaches down with his other hand and presses down between her pubic mound and her navel, effectively stilting the wild movement of her hips and increasing the stimulation of his fingers. Clarke sobs and moans incoherently as he plunders into her cunt until finally, everything clenches for a long, impossible second, and she explodes with a throaty scream loud enough to wake up half of Arkadia, convulsing in his arms. Her cunt spasms around his invading fingers, trying to simultaneously swallow him deeper and push him out.

While she recovers, he deposits her on her back on the bed and arranges her limbs to his satisfaction. He settles heavily between her legs, his cock hard and eager to get inside her. Bellamy kisses her, slowly bringing her back from her shuddering climax. Clarke spreads her palms over his chest and arches her hips. Expertly, Bellamy thrusts slowly into her, gradually inch by inch until he reaches the very end of her channel. 

“Fuck, you’re big,” Clarke whimpers, frowning slightly as she adjusts to him and clinging to his neck. 

He gently brushes her hair off her sweaty forehead. “You can take me.”

With considerable restraint, Bellamy strokes in and out unhurriedly, growling at the exquisite clenching of her walls, deliberately building her pleasure up once again without overloading her senses. Once her hips start snapping up to meet him and spur him on, Bellamy plants his forearms on the mattress caging her torso and slips his hands under Clarke’s shoulders, cupping them and holding her in place. Her bosom squishes between them, the lush breasts pliant against his solid pectorals. After her orgasm her nipples were soft and distended, but Bellamy can feel them gaining texture as her desire builds, the tips hardening to beaded points poking into his flesh.

He changes the depth of his strokes, driving into her in short thrusts, only partly in and rubbing her G-spot with every stroke. Bellamy can feel Clarke’s insides coil tightly and her eyes snap open as she gives him an alarmed look. “We need to stop I - I have to use the bathroom.”

Bellamy chuckles softly and brushes a placating kiss on her lips. “That’s not it. It’ll be good, I promise. I think you might even squirt any minute now.”

Clarke’s thighs’ muscles tremble and jerk involuntarily against his sides. “I’ve never done that. I don’t know that I can, actually,” she says, apologetically.

It dawns on him that she thinks he’s going to be disappointed if he doesn’t. As if the privilege of being with her isn’t enough to send him over the moon. He kisses her lovingly, drawing it out until her tension drains away. “I don’t care if you don’t quite get there tonight, or ever. I just want to love your body and make you feel everything. Trust me?” 

Clarke threads her fingers on his hair and stares deeply into his eyes. She nibbles on her lower lip, crosses her ankles at the small of his back. She clenches her cunt around his cock and his groan almost downs the sweet sound of her moaned yielding “Okay.”

“Good. Reach down and rub your clit for me.”

She does as she’s told, Bellamy never losing his determined rhythm. Her moans turn to pleasured sobs as Bellamy thrusts faster and faster, mercilessly stimulating that special place inside her. Clarke goes silent after a moment and he recognizes the telling signs of her being on the brink of a massive climax. Then she breaks, shatters beneath him, having the orgasm with her entire body.

For as loud as her last orgasm was, she is silent as a mouse this time. Her face is a blank mask of pleasure and the most beautiful thing Bellamy has ever seen. His cock and crotch are bathed in a gush of liquid and he grins, marvelled and pleased, letting himself go finally and pounding into her deep and hard. Through it all, Clarke keeps on coming, unable to stop. 

Bellamy wishes he could stay in this moment forever, lost in her, sharing the most intimate experience he’s shared with anyone before. But he’s been holding off his orgasm for too long and her exquisite cunt is milking him for all he’s worth with the rhythmic clenching brought on by her climax. At last, Bellamy tenses into rigidity, pressing in until he bottoms out, his cock jerking against her cervix as he comes with a low growl of satisfaction.

Completely drained of strength and arms near to giving out, laying on top of Clarke indefinitely is an extremely appealing idea. But he’s heavy, her breasts are trapped between them and it’s going to be real uncomfortable for her in a moment, not to mention crushing her is detrimental to breathing, and Bellamy has no interest in suffocating Clarke. With a herculean effort, he rises up on his hands relieving the pressure on her chest and starts to pull his hips back, but Clarke winces, tightening her legs around him. “Don’t move,” she begs.

Bellamy curses himself for causing her pain, but it can’t be helped. He softly brushes a kiss on her lips. “It’s going to get more uncomfortable if I don’t.”

Not to be a dick about it, but he’s rather well endowed. After an orgasm like the one she just had, her cunt is going to take a while to recover and the last thing she needs is a big cock jammed into her causing her discomfort. 

He gently pulls back, inch by torturous inch. Her cunt clings around his retreating cock. There’s a small puddle darkening the sheets between her legs and they are both soaked and sticky around the crotch area. Bellamy goes to the bathroom to fetch a warm washcloth. He hates leaving her but it can’t be helped. Female ejaculation isn’t common in his experience. Roma was the only one who could get there of all his sexual partners and he remembers she was especially sensitive and emotional after it happened every time. Not to mention Clarke is Clarke and this is the first time they’ve been together. He has no love for anything that requires being away from her for long periods of time, generally speaking, but even more so now after they’ve had sex. 

He returns to bed after less than two minutes, already clean. He murmurs sweet nothings to rouse Clarke as he gently cleans the inside of her thighs. Aftershocks still make her cunt clench and unclench and Bellamy sees his creamy cum being pushed out and dribbling down her glistening folds. It’s a riveting sight. He could look at her all day, knowing his cum coats every inch of her gorgeous cunt, that Clarke will carry it with her. 

Bellamy cleans between her legs, feeling her plump folds pliant beneath the thin washcloth and the heat emanating from her. He removes the cloth and sure enough, her cunt clenches for a long second and more of his cum comes out.

Clarke’s voice startles him, throaty and wanton. “The look on your face…” 

He looks at her sheepishly. Her hand wraps around his wrist and she pulls him closer. Bellamy maneuvers them to the right side of the bed and as far from the wet patch as possible. He’ll change the sheets in the morning. 

Clarke blushes. “Sorry about that.”

He settles Clarke on her back with him on his side propped up on an elbow. “Don’t apologize. It was beautiful.”

The thing is, he loves her. He is fucking in love with her and he’s probably doomed to suffer in silence forever. Hell, the increasing radiation level will make the planet uninhabitable in less than five months so he guesses humans as a whole are all collectively doomed, but. Bellamy feels extra fucked. He’s not one to feel sorry for himself, but damned if he doesn’t wish things were different, that they had more time, that Clarke felt for him even a tenth of his love for her. She might be here with him right now, but her heart isn’t. She might want him, but it’s just physical. Her heart stayed in Polis. It never came home.

Bellamy internally shakes himself. Enough with the pity party. There’s a bigger picture here. The world might end and other people have it far worse than him, like Clarke and Octavia, who have actually lost their loved ones. She might not return his feelings, but she’s alive. He has no right to complain and his little heartbreak can wait. “So, um,  did that live up to your expectations?” he asks cheekily, trying to affect an arrogantly playful tone to  his voice even though he feels far from it. If this is the only way he gets to be with Clarke, he’s not going to ruin it. “Did I live up to the high standards my dream self set?”

Clarke frowns up at him, her eyes narrowed as if she was trying to solve a puzzle. “What just happened? What changed?” she wonders.

He swallows, looks away, tries to shrug it off. Fuck. Is he that transparent? “Nothing.”

She studies him closely for a moment and then her expression clears. Her bottom lip juts out in a pout and her hand comes up to cup his left cheek, dainty fingers tripping over the fresh scars that won’t fade, courtesy of his sister’s anger and a tangible reminder of his mistakes.

“Bellamy, why do you think I come here every night?” Clarke asks him, a little smile tugging on the corners of her lips. “It’s not because I was horny and just wanted to be close to the nearest available warm body. I’m here for  _ you _ .”

Those words take him back to that second day on the ground, her sultry eyes searing a path as she haughtily raked them over him, challenging him, saying he was afraid. Back then, she was an opponent. An uppity princess he fantasized about taking and absolutely wrecking her until she asked for more. Everything about the way he saw her, that he was so sure it was true about her back then, was irrevocably changed for the better in short order until she became his fixed point in this ever shifting world.

She pushes him onto his back and lays atop him, her hands folded over his chest and her chin resting over them as her eyes gaze earnestly into his soul. “You said earlier you wanted to love me and make me feel everything.”

He said love  _ her body _ , didn’t he?  _ Didn’t he? _ Fuck, did he spring a love confession on her during sex, of all times?

“Well I do,” Clarke continues speaking, ignoring his internal moment of hysteria. “I feel everything. You make me feel everything. And it scares me.” Her eyes dance over his face and she smiles sadly. “I run when I’m scared, but I don’t want to run anymore.”

“If you do I’m going after you, like I should’ve done before,” he promises, voice thick with the feeling building in his chest: a love so natural it’s a part of him; gratefulness because he has her, finally, after everything; that staggering terror that comes close to paralyzing him when he thinks about her leaving; hope, because they’re together and together, everything is possible. “I’m not letting you go again.”

It almost sounds like a threat but it brings forth such a brilliant smile that her lips strain to contain it and her face lights up with joy. “Me too.” 

And with a goodnight kiss, Clarke curls on his chest and falls asleep. Just like that. Bellamy covers them both with a blanket and turns off the bedside light before letting the excited hum that’s been thrumming through his body for the last several minutes, lull him under. 

Tomorrow is another day, and this was just the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> So? Feedback keeps me going, so please don't be shy! I love talking to you guys :-)
> 
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> [ This is me ](http://www.bellohmyblake.tumblr.com)


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